Gruzica
by Si1entLibrarian
Summary: When Bonzo finally gets a chance to go to music class, he quickly learns the difference between being allowed versus being accepted. Thankfully, there is a familiar face in class who is also learning her voice.


_One shot. Bonzo finally gets to attend music class. But being allowed does not equal being accepted. Thankfully there is a familiar face in class who is finding her own voice._

 _All mistakes are my own, characters and world owned by Disney. I gain nothing from this, monetary or otherwise, except personal joy and joy from your reviews._

"Gruzica?" Bonzo asked, sitting in on his first integrated music class at Seabrook high. He waited for the teacher to acknowledge him, but her back was turned to him completely. He noticed Bree on the side of desks by the window, she was waving to him.

"Do you have something to add Bree to the theory of music?" The teacher was snide, her mouth tight.

"Oh, no. I just- we, he-" Bree was motioning to Bonzo to come forward, the class turned to see him, and he choose to wave slightly, his large circular backpack containing his favorite instrument slung slightly off his left shoulder. "Welcome to music!" Bree clapped lightly.

"Oh look, a zombie, pretending it can learn. Please, take up valuable space meant for actual students." The teacher's cold demeanor froze the class into inaction as Bonzo kept walking to the empty desk across from Bree. Bree's face turned, Zed has been winning football games left and right, for the first time in decades. She understood Bucky acting like a fool, but that was jealousy and immaturity. But a teacher?

Bonzo tried to get his tall body into the small chair as quietly as possibly, as the music teacher kept talking over him.

"Will you please be quiet and sit down, or are you incapable of even such a small task?" Bree heard the teacher whisper some slurs she hadn't heard in year. To be afraid of zombies, that was understood, but at this level?

"Ms. Smith, I'm sure Bonzo is just nervous, it's his first day in class, and the last thing he wants to do is make a bad impression." Bree smiled, trying to defuse the situation.

"Gruza, zodzig." Bonzo opened his hands, showing a fruit sculpture carefully carved into a swan. Ms. Smith walked up to him, picking it up with a tissue from her pocket, slowly walking to the trash, and dropped it with a thud. Bree felt something in her stomach start to twist. It wasn't nerves, because it wasn't strumming in her. It was bubbling, roaring between her ears.

"Cannot even speak proper English. And you want to learn how to play music. You are unteachable, and I will personally request to Principal Lee that you return to the basement immediately. Maybe the janitor will have some tips for your future endeavors because music is not it." Bree watched as Bonzo dropped his smile and his eyes to his desk. He started to pack up the paper and pencil he has unpacked, the long tails of his coat brushing the floor with his movements. Bree stood up, her palm slamming on her desk.

"He absolutely will not." Her voice was much louder than she intended, a volume set for cheering a crowd, not confronting a teacher. "I mean, Ms. Smith, you are being extremely prejudiced. Bonzo would like to learn music, and as the schools and town are being integrated, it is your responsibility to teach him."

Ms. Smith let her heels clack as she walked in front of Bree. She felt the nerved climb along her spine, her knees shaking, there was the nervousness she was expecting.

"That is dead. It is only here not devouring your brain because of an electric pulse on its wrist. It can return laundry carts, it can do menial tasks, but it cannot and will never be able to speak the language of music. And you, Bree, are risking your place on our award winning cheer squad."

"Then I risk it purposefully. Bonzo deserves to learn music." Bree raised her chin slightly, pride at herself, and strength helping her.

"Breeska, gron, zop." Bonzo said.

"Let's ask the class? Do you want to learn music with this thing in class? Something who can't understand you, and you can't understand it." Ms. Smith challenged the class.

"He can understand you just fine." Bree put her hand on his shoulder.

"Za." Bonzo nodded.

"And I suppose you can understand it?" Ms. Smith challenged.

"I took old Zombie during the summer for an extracurricular. I'm surprised a teacher didn't?" Bree answered back.

"Breeska, zoka der grue zah." Bonzo said, trying to stand. Bree held him down with her hand on his shoulder firmly.

"This is no trouble. This is standing up for what I believe Bonzo, and I believe in you." She stood on her chair, facing the class. "The Zbands are not perfect, yes, they send enough electronic pulses to reanimate our zombie friends, but that doesn't mean they heal them. Bonzo can understand you, but he cannot speak English. That's why zombie tongue was invented, because our words require so much muscle movements, they physically are not able to. And our scientists refuse to listen to them. So you tell me, are you going to punish someone trying their hardest, willing to accept this treatment with a smile, and still not giving up? Or are you going to let your prejudice win."

Ms. Smith tapped her shoulder; a perfectly square pink slip being presented to Bree.

DETENTION.

Bree stepped down, smoothing her cheer skirt, accepting the punishment. Bonzo stood up, Ms. Smith pushing one into his chest. Bree kept her head high as she grabbed her backpack. Bonzo slipped out before her, opening the door. Bree looked back to the class, hoping someone would say something. Slowly, in the back, a student she didn't recognize started clapping. It was loud in the silence of her rebellion, and others began to join. Bonzo took a deep bow and grabbed Bree's hand. Her mouth went into an o shape, as he led her to the detention room, letting the applause carry her walking rhythm.

Bree felt Bonzo squeeze her hand.

"Zodzig." Bonzo said.

"Don't be sorry, I'm sorry you even had to experience that treatment. You're great just the way you are Bonzo. Truly great. And I look forward to hearing you play music." Bree squeezed his hand back as they walked. And once again she felt nervous, but it had nothing to do with fear, or anger. They were just butterflies letting her know she was on the right path.


End file.
